The moment Kevin arrived at the villa, his phone wouldn't stop ringing. He had no choice but to lock himself in a room to attend an urgent conference call with his business partners.

The second he was gone, Stefanie and her group of pampered friends became even more brazen.

They found every excuse imaginable to make Venice run errands—mostly to keep brewing coffee for them.

By the third round up and down the villa, the old wound on her leg began to throb again. Still, Venice gritted her teeth and made a fourth pot, carefully adjusting the beans and the water temperature to suit Stefanie's preferences.

But after a single sip, Stefanie's brows furrowed in disdain.

"Venice, this tastes like dishwater. No wonder your café failed—you can't even make a decent cup of coffee!"

Venice turned to leave, expression taut, but the girl in the yellow dress grabbed her arm. Before she could react, Stefanie took the steaming cup and flung its contents straight at her.

Hot coffee splashed across Venice's face and neck, burning her skin. The pain and humiliation ignited something deep inside her.

Venice finally lost control—she lunged forward and yanked the hair of the girl in the yellow dress. In an instant, chaos erupted. Screams, curses, and the sound of chairs scraping filled the air as several people joined the fray.

"Venice!"

Stefanie's sudden shriek cut through the commotion. Everyone froze.

She was standing at the edge of the pool, clutching the pendant necklace in her hand.

"Can we stop now, Venice?" she asked sweetly.

Venice's expression changed instantly.

[Give me that necklace back!]

Stefanie tilted her head, her smile sharp. "You want it? Then come get it."

Venice didn't think twice—she lunged forward, reaching for it.

But just as her fingers brushed the hem of Stefanie's gown, the woman let out a startled gasp. Her heel twisted, and she toppled backward—dragging Venice with her into the pool.

"Ahhh!"

The icy water swallowed them both.

Venice struggled to surface, but Stefanie's foot pressed down on her shoulder, forcing her under.

"Help! Kevin, help me!" Stefanie shrieked, thrashing wildly.

Inside the villa, Kevin had just finished his call when he heard the commotion. He rushed outside, saw the figures flailing in the pool, and without a second's hesitation, tore off his jacket and dove in.

Water filled Venice's nose and mouth, her vision blurring as she broke the surface just long enough to see Kevin lifting Stefanie out of the pool.

He laid her on the ground, shouting her name, pressing on her chest, his face pale with panic. Then, as if driven by instinct, he tilted her chin up—and pressed his lips against hers to breathe for her.

Something inside Venice cracked. Her heart plummeted like a stone sinking to the bottom.

The strength drained from her limbs. She let herself fall, sinking deeper, her body going numb, her mind empty.

Suddenly a faint shimmer gleamed before her eyes. The light came from the necklace in Stefanie's hand.

No. She couldn't die. Not yet.

She still had to reclaim her mother's ashes and marry Adam.

With the last of her strength, Venice clawed her way to the surface, gasping, dragging herself inch by inch toward the edge of the pool where the necklace glimmered faintly.

She was almost there when a shadow loomed above her.

Kevin stood over her, his face cold, his gaze sharp as a blade dipped in poison.

"Venice, when will you ever learn?" he hissed. "I told you to get along with Stefanie. Why do you insist on disappointing me?"

Venice's eyes were red, her fingers trembling as she signed desperately:

[I didn't!]

[I just wanted the necklace back—it holds my mother's—]

"Enough!" he snapped. "Clearly, the last lesson wasn't harsh enough. You still don't know your place."

He turned, snatched the pendant from Stefanie's limp hand, and flung it into the deepest part of the pool.

"You want it so badly? Go fetch it yourself."

Then he picked Stefanie up in his arms and strode away without another glance.

Venice let out a strangled gasp and dove into the water once more.

Her fingers brushed the pendant, finally closing around it—but when she opened it, she froze.

The ashes inside had dissolved, washed away by the chlorine and water.

Venice clutched the empty locket to her chest, tears mixing with the pool water.

At that moment, everything inside her went silent.

She would never forgive Kevin! Never, in this lifetime or the next.

As the last of her strength ebbed away, she stopped fighting. The cold seeped into her bones, pulling her down.

And this time, she didn't resurface.

That night, Venice came down with a raging fever that quickly worsened into pneumonia.

For two full days, she drifted in and out of delirium, her body burning and trembling, her mind trapped in a fog.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she found herself not in a hospital—but in a dark, damp room on the first floor of Kevin's villa.

The air was heavy with the scent of disinfectant and mold.

Kevin sat beside her bed, adjusting her IV drip. His expression eased when he saw her awake.

"Venice," he said softly, "your fever has finally gone down. The pneumonia is under control. The doctor came earlier—just rest for a couple more days, and you'll be fine."

Venice tried to speak, but not a sound came out. Once, her muteness had been an act. Now, it was real.

Kevin touched her forehead gently, his voice calm and almost tender. "The fever and infection inflamed your throat badly. But since you couldn't talk before anyway, it doesn't change much, does it?"

For the next two days, he never mentioned what had happened at the villa.

He stayed by her side constantly—personally cooking porridge, cooling it with his breath before feeding her; waking up at every rustle she made at night; even holding her in his arms while the doctor gave her injections, whispering soft reassurances.

But on the third day, he changed.

He ordered his men to keep watch over her day and night, forbidding her from stepping outside the villa—not even once.

"Just in case you decide to cause trouble again," he said coldly before leaving.

After that, he threw himself entirely into the preparations for his engagement banquet.

Venice merely sat by the window, her face devoid of emotion, watching the days crawl by.

Then, one quiet evening, her phone buzzed—its ringtone shattering the silence.

"Venice," came her father's familiar voice, warm and steady. "I've landed safely in Los Angeles."

"I've already spoken with Adam. He'll be waiting for you tomorrow at the Pearl Tower."

"Oh, and I brought your wedding gown—the one you chose for yourself back then."

Venice's fingers tightened around the phone, trembling slightly. "That's good, Dad. But... I've run into a bit of trouble here."

Her father had been away from Los Angeles for years; many of his old connections had gone cold. It took time and effort to pull enough strings.

By six o'clock the next morning—the day of the wedding—her father, Ronald, finally broke into the villa with a group of men, pushing past layers of guards to take his daughter away.

All the way to the venue, makeup artists and stylists worked on her frantically, racing against the clock.

...

Pearl Tower truly lived up to its reputation as Los Angeles's most exclusive Michelin-starred restaurant.

The banquet hall glittered in gold and crystal. Roses, airlifted from overseas, filled the air with fragrance, and chandeliers cast diamond-like light across the marble floors.

When Venice appeared, dressed in a backless wedding gown—whispers immediately spread through the crowd.

"Wait, isn't this Kevin's engagement banquet? Why is she here?"

"Is she here to crash it? Please—she's just the owner of some failed café. How could she possibly match the McAuliffe family?"

"Still, she's brave. But the Cervantes family won't let her walk out of here unharmed."

Their murmurs reached her ears, but Venice only curled her lips in a faint smile.

Let them talk.

Soon, every one of them would choke on their words.

The elevator chimed with a crisp ding.

Stefanie stepped out, holding Kevin's arm.

At that instant, the room fell into stunned silence—because Stefanie was wearing the exact same wedding gown as Venice.

Kevin's expression turned dark as thunder. He strode toward her, his voice low and sharp enough to cut. "So this is where you've been hiding. You caused chaos at the villa, and now you show up here—wearing the same dress as Stefanie?"

His words were ice. "Venice, I'll say this one last time—take off that gown and get out."

Venice met his gaze, her lips trembling slightly before she spoke—for the first time in eight years.

"Kevin, I'm not leaving."

He froze, startled. "You... you can talk?"

But then, his sneer returned. "So what? Even if you're not mute, I still wouldn't marry you."

Venice drew a slow breath, her voice steady.

"Don't worry," she said. "I didn't come here to marry you."

And just then, the doors of the banquet hall burst open with a bang.

Ronald strode in first, followed by a tall man in a perfectly tailored black suit. His features were chiseled and sharp, his presence commanding, every step exuding confidence and authority.

"You recognize him, don't you?" Venice said coolly. "Your uncle, Adam."

She crossed the room, her heels clicking softly against the marble, and took Adam's arm with quiet familiarity.

"But he has another identity now," she said, her smile calm and devastating. "Allow me to introduce him properly—Adam McAuliffe, my fiancé."

She lifted her chin slightly, her voice ringing clear. "Today is our wedding day."